Absence
by ILM
Summary: When he goes on vacation, she misses him - and that makes her reconsider this thing they're in. Set some time in season 3, post 'Neighborhood Watch' but no mention of season finale.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone - dipping my toe into a new pairing.**

**And yes - not mine. I would have ruined more than one television show if they were. And that's without considering the dreams of shippers everywhere...**

* * *

He goes on vacation and she misses him. Which she finds strange, considering it's by no means the first time they've been separated. It's not until Eric innocently remarks that they can't have been apart for as long as two weeks since they became partners that she realises quite how much time they spend together.

Her first instinct is defensive: she points out that when Deeks was shot, he was in the hospital for eight days _and_ then wasn't even allowed back for paperwork for another week. That's over two weeks. And then there are all those weekends and holidays they spend apart.

She doesn't mention those evenings in the hospital trying to beat him at cards. Or those weekends when she finds herself at a loose end, texts to see what he's up to and somehow ends up running along the beach with Monty; comparing paint in the hardware store because he needs to repair the spot he scraped; watching complete rubbish on the television because secretly they like to tease each other; ordering Chinese because neither really likes cooking.

And she definitely doesn't mention the time he fell asleep on her couch and she decided that if they could manage to share a bed for three weeks undercover then surely they could manage it for one night as platonic friends. He'd been so drowsy when she woke him that she's still pretty certain he doesn't remember moving to her bed. But she does. She remembers the haze in his eyes as she pushed him through the door; she remembers trying not to stare as he automatically discarded his jeans before stretching out on her bed; she remembers hearing his breathing change instantly as he dropped back into sleep. She'd changed right next to him, knowing there was no way he would wake up, unable to take the slight smile off her face. It had been a long time since she'd voluntarily fallen asleep next to anyone - she discounts their stint undercover - and there's something vaguely comforting about it.

She won't ever mention, either, that she'd woken up in the night to find his arm flung across her and hadn't even tried moving it. Or that by the morning they had both migrated to the middle of the bed, pressed together so haphazardly that it would never be possible to call it spooning but close enough for her to feel his breath on her shoulder, his thigh between hers and an unmistakable warm swelling against her hip. For a moment, she had dismissed guilt in favour of illusion and stayed still, just about able to pretend that they were just a man and a woman who should naturally be waking up together, rather than two partners who shouldn't even be in the same house. She'd indulged herself with the thought of rolling him over, bidding him good morning with a kiss.

And then she'd eased away from him, padded into the kitchen to set the coffee brewing and headed for the shower. By the time she'd come out, he was in the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards in search of food; she'd dressed quickly, pulled a clean towel from the pile and dropped it over his head with an instruction to make himself presentable. She didn't tell him she quite liked him wandering around her kitchen in his boxers with his hair dishevelled - well, more dishevelled than normal. He'd just laughed and obeyed.

Only when he'd gone did she realise that it hadn't been awkward. She wondered later, too, why they had ended up in that position that morning when for twenty-one mornings they had remained resolutely apart, even whilst unconscious.

And right after she fails to mention all that, she doesn't fail to notice Callen's raised eyebrows. He says nothing but she suspects he's not blind to the increasing closeness between his colleagues, however hard they try to maintain their mutual facade. She can't meet his gaze and excuses herself hurriedly, leaving him to listen to Eric's explanation of their new communications software. It's not like any of them will ever understand it, anyway.

Downstairs, she checks her phone and can't help smiling when she realises her partner's sent her some kind of media message. She presses the screen to agree to the download and waits, glancing furtively over her shoulder to make sure she's still alone.

A man she doesn't recognise appears on the screen, grainy and shaking as he holds the phone in his hand and looks towards it.

"_Hey, Kensi… Um, I'm Sean, Marty's friend… We haven't met. Anyway, he told me you'd want to see he's having a good time. Actually, he said he wanted to make you wish you weren't stuck in the office. So, yeah…"_

The image blurs as he moves the phone round to face the sea. In the distance, a distorted figure rides a distorted wave and she hears a muted whoop; even if there was any chance of it being someone else, she would know it was her partner. Something about the way he holds himself, the way he waves at the camera. He glides into shore and she can see him jogging towards the lens.

"_You met Sean?"_ he says, laughing. Sean's hand waves in between them in greeting. _"You'd love it here, Kens. Well, if it wasn't so cold. And it rained a bit when we first got here. But the last couple of days have been amazing."_ She can see the enthusiasm on his face as he speaks. _"Waves are totally different here. I'm still king, though!"_ He blows a kiss at the camera. _"Back Friday, K – well, if I don't decide to stay."_ He winks and the message ends, the image diminishing to a thumbnail.

She looks at the time he sent the message: twenty minutes ago. A quick calculation tells her it's almost 5pm where he is now and it seems late for him to still be on the beach.

She hits reply. _Very funny, idiot. You'll pay. You been on the beach all day?_

She wants an instant response and it's hard to concentrate on her expenses claim without looking at the screen every few seconds. She's grateful when Sam comes in, muttering something about a lost sneaker and how children should never be allowed to put their own stuff away. It's a distraction and soon he's mid-tirade as he acts out the saga of the missing sneaker that delayed him leaving home. She laughs and it's slightly surreal because he never really talks about his family and now it's only taken a sneaker to break him.

By the time her phone beeps, Callen's joined them, the threat of Hetty is making them all file their expenses by the deadline and she's almost forgotten she's waiting for a response.

_Most of it. Gotta make the most of the weather. How ya doing without me?_

She can picture his knowing grin and pulls a face.

"That Deeks?" Callen asks, seemingly casually.

She knows he's fishing. "Yep. Trying to make me jealous. Of his vacation," she adds quickly, not wanting to give either of the men now looking at her the chance to think Deeks could make her jealous of another girl.

For a moment, she thinks Callen is going to pursue it, but he seems to change his mind. "Say hello," he says, his head dropping back down to focus on his paperwork.

Sam snorts. "Maybe he won't come back," he suggests, deadpan.

Kensi knows he doesn't mean it – but it still hurts a little that he makes remarks like that about her partner. Sure, she's allowed to do it, but still…

_All good. The guys say hello. Sean looks nice._

She knows her last sentence will get a reaction, short though it is.

_Sean looks engaged_, comes back almost straight away, _and his girl is scary. You picking me up Friday?_

They'd talked about it before he departed and she'd left it at 'if I have time' – even though she knew she'd _make_ time. She's memorised his entire trip schedule without even trying.

_As long as nothing unexpected happens. Make sure you don't miss the flight._

It's four days till he's home and she tries not to think about what it means that she can almost say how many hours.

* * *

There's another blurry video on Wednesday, this time of him licking an ice cream cone suggestively. She can hear Sean in the background commenting that he doesn't think he should be a part of this. Deeks just laughs and tells Sean he's making sure people don't forget him.

Sometimes she thinks there's more truth to that than he lets on. After all, it's not as if he has a lot of people to remember him.

She texts him to say that she'll never let him near ice cream again and spends the rest of the day with the image in her head.

* * *

His flight lands at 1905, it's bound to be at least an hour later by the time he's reclaimed his luggage and got through immigration and she knows that will feel more like 4am to him; when she gets home she drops a cushion next to the front door so she won't forget it, just in case he wants to sleep on the way home. She knows he'll tease her about it – but somehow the urge to look after him wins.

She resists the instinct to check her make-up before she leaves – because _honestly, this is getting ridiculous_, she chides herself – and angrily shuts her wardrobe door to dispel even the slightest twitch of her eye towards a dress rather than the clothes she's had on all day. She wonders if he even knows she _owns_ a dress; yes, he's seen her in a few of the collection Hetty's accumulated at NCIS over the years, but they tend to be a little glamorous for her own taste.

The familiar beep cuts into her thoughts and she quickly reads the message.

_Bored. Haven't been able to sleep. How was your day?_

She frowns. _Stop texting on the plane!_

The reply is almost instant: _Not until you answer the question._

She pulls a face; she knows he means it. _Routine. Nothing even worth mentioning. Now turn it off!_

The problem is, she knows exactly why he's asking. He's checking she's still coming.

_I'm sure someone proved it's not dangerous now. Think we're landing soon. You should probably leave, honey-pie._

He'll run out of stupid pet names one day, she's sure. Until then, it seems easier to put up with them than attempt an argument. She doesn't answer the message, grabs her keys, the cushion and the bag of supplies and heads towards the car.

It's not far, but she knows it'll easily take her an hour at this time of day and she'll never hear the last of it if she's late. She finds herself singing along with snippets of the radio and tapping her fingers on the steering wheel and mentally kicks herself for her vastly improved mood. Earlier, she all but snapped at Nell in response to a perfectly innocent question about an earpiece failure – only at the last moment did she manage to turn her reply into a frustrated rant about the new technology.

_Not him. It's not because of him_, she tells herself firmly, as the words become almost a mantra in her head.

_Not him. Not him. Not him._

She's right about the traffic – it's stop-start for far too much of the journey and she has too long to think about this situation she's got herself into. This _thing_, as he calls it, is fast becoming a thing she can't ignore. Yet something tells her she has to, at least for a while longer. They can't afford to leap headfirst into anything.

She finds it strange that she isn't even considering that he might not feel the same – surely she should have some doubts? Okay, so he hasn't exactly hidden his attraction to her – more like flaunted it on occasion – but with his track record she has no real reason to assume he would be interested in any more than one hot night. It's just instinct that tells her he has more invested in this than he does in almost anything else in his life. He has too little that's important to him to take risks with what he _does_ have.

By the time she parks the car, he's already texted that he's landed, but she knows she has time. He'd have to be first through immigration and customs to have any chance of beating her and there's no way he will be. She scans the area when she reaches Arrivals but he's not there – she could spot him in a crowd of blond men and this is certainly not that.

_Don't keep me waiting too long_, she texts, unable to stop herself smiling.

She stays towards the back of the meet-and-greet area, watching other people anticipating their own returners. After a while, passengers start filing through from the Tokyo flight that landed ten minutes earlier than the one she's looking out for, weighed down with luggage, breaking into happy laughter as they spy familiar faces. She can't help wondering if her partner is going to look at her like that.

It's a long fifteen minutes later before she sees another crowd of people headed towards her looking like they've been subject to a ten-hour flight in the company of strangers. Her eyes flit quickly across the throng in search a swagger and a shaggy head.

She sees him before he sees her. His eyes are cast downwards and when her phone beeps she knows what he's doing.

_You hiding? Can't see you._

She pulls a face – she's barely fifty feet away – and looks around for an identifiable sign he can use as a landmark before texting back. She could just call him but somehow this is more fun.

His head flicks up to glance around him, his eyes still skipping her. As his gaze slides back the opposite way, she waves and catches his eye.

And yes, the smile does spread across his face when he sees her, instantly quickening his pace. She knows she's grinning manically but no matter how hard she tries she simply can't wipe her expression back into its customary sane state.

"Hey Kens!" he calls when he's in earshot. "Knew you couldn't stay away!"

And he's back. She rolls her eyes. "Shame you couldn't," she retorts merrily.

He drops his bag on the floor as he reaches her, laughing. "Nice greeting. Couldn't you have started with _Welcome back_?"

"Too easy. Gotta keep you on your toes."

For a moment, it's awkward, because she wants to hug him but feels too self-conscious. They don't really hug, although perhaps, she realises suddenly, that's because they're never really apart long enough these days. They don't avoid touch – it's just another aspect of this game they play – but their touches are mostly innocent on the surface, all the meaning trapped inside their heads. A hand on the back; the stroke of an arm; a finger lightly brushing stray hair out of an eye.

He breaks first, pulling her into his embrace easily. It's only a few seconds but the warmth that flows through her is unmistakeable; it makes her want to kiss him as though she's entitled to do so.

She pulls away reluctantly and looks behind him. "Isn't Sean with you?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Flew straight from London to San Francisco to see his folks."

She nods. "You got everything?" she checks, automatically relieving him of the deceptively heavy bag that is his carry-on. "Oof. What have you _got_ in here, Deeks?"

He looks sheepish. "Bought a few books in the airport. Might have gone a bit overboard. It's what happens when I'm not supervised."

"Clearly. Come on – I'm parked pretty close."

She turns from him as he reaches to pick up his massive backpack, starting to lead the way; later, she realises how close she was to missing the question that will signify a change in their relationship.

"Hey, Kens – you miss me?"

She's so close to a flippant answer but this time it just doesn't feel right. She can hear the slight tension in his voice, even though his question is posed lightly. He wants the reassurance of a proper answer.

So she turns and forces herself to meet those clear blue eyes that have wormed their way into her life so deeply that even though he's been gone for two weeks she's spent far too much of the time thinking about him.

"Yes," she admits, knowing there's more behind that one syllable than either of them is ready to face right now but also that now is the time to say it. If this _thing_ is ever to have a chance, they can't just keep forcing it into a box.

He says nothing because he doesn't need to. They'll talk about it one day – and at least now they know they'll both recognise that day when it arrives.

* * *

**I always love to know what people think but I hate pressuring for reviews. I have an almost-complete companion piece to this which looks at the same period of time from Deeks' perspective, but I'd like to know I'm not going completely wrong before I finish and post it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everyone and thank you for a lovely welcome to the NCIS:LA section - it was great to receive such encouragement for my first piece. This is the promised companion piece, looking at the same time from Deeks' perspective.**

**Still not mine and Christmas is still six months away.**

* * *

He goes on vacation and he misses her. Which he finds strange, considering it's by no means the first time they've been separated. It's not until Sean innocently remarks that he's never heard him talk about anyone as much as he does about his partner that he realises quite how much time they spend together.

His first instinct is denial: he doesn't talk about her all that much, Sean just doesn't understand what it's like when you spend all day with someone. And then they're friends too, so there are all those weekends and holidays they spend together.

He conveniently forgets that Sean is a cop and knows perfectly well what it's like to spend all day with someone.

He forgets to mention that when he was in hospital after the shooting, she was the only person he really wanted to see. And that he's relieved when she texts him on the weekends, because that gives him an excuse to invite her for a run along the beach – with Monty, of course; or drag her to the hardware store because he can't remember what colour his wall is and he can't put off repairing that scrape any longer; or watch her get animated over complete rubbish on the television because secretly he likes that soft blush she can't resist when he teases her; and then persuade her to order Chinese because he doesn't want the evening to end – and okay, because neither really likes cooking.

And he definitely doesn't tell Sean about the time he fell asleep on her couch and woke up in the middle of the night to find himself next to his partner – in her bed – with her so close his hazy mind couldn't resist the urge to slide his arm across her. He'd held his breath for a few seconds, waiting for her to turn over and yell; when she didn't, he let his arm relax, his fingers landing on the soft material over her stomach. He stayed awake for a while, savouring the quiet closeness. For twenty-one nights he'd consciously avoided touching her, burying himself in professionalism, finding it a little surreal to be sharing a bed with his partner as though she was far more than that. Then, giving in to his urge to touch her could have caused complications far beyond the two of them. Now – well, at some point he has to start testing the waters if he ever wants them to leave the purgatory of flirting behind for even a chance at something more.

In the morning, he'd stirred slightly, awake just enough to realise they had both migrated to the middle of the bed; pressed together so haphazardly that he was half on top of her, her legs entangled with his – and he had hoped like hell she didn't wake up because he would have had a difficult time explaining the way her hip was nestled against an unmistakable erection. For a moment, he had pushed guilt to the side of his mind, just about able to pretend that he was allowed to wake up like this, that it was natural to have her in his arms. A voice in the back of his head had nagged that no, this wasn't right – they shouldn't have been in the same house, never mind the same bed – and that he needed to find a way to extricate himself without waking her. He was still considering his options when he drifted back to sleep, content to remain like that.

He'd only woken properly half an hour later, when she twitched awake, stretching a little as she came round. He'd realised they were still in the same position and deliberately kept his breathing even, not wanting to break the illusion just yet.

She hadn't moved for a while and he couldn't help wondering what she was thinking. Did she like this, waking up next to him? Was she happy to stay there, waiting for him to leave sleep behind? Did she realise how easy it would be for him to roll on to his back, pulling her with him and kissing her good morning until she was breathless?

Too soon, she'd eased away from him; he heard her move towards the kitchen and the familiar sound of coffee brewing but only dared move when the shower came to life. He'd been in the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards in search of food, when she'd blinded him with a towel over his head with an instruction to make himself presentable. She didn't need to tell him she quite liked him wandering around her kitchen in his boxers – he could see her eyes darken and her face flush slightly. He'd thought about playing on it but something told him not to ruin this easy atmosphere – so much easier than it really should be – so he just laughed and obeyed.

And right after he doesn't tell Sean all that, he knows Sean has guessed anyway. His friend has known him a long time and, frankly, he doubts he's all that difficult to see through even if he was a stranger. He's talked about Kensi far too much for anybody to believe this partnership isn't headed for something more; he can feel his side of their mutual facade crumbling too quickly to salvage.

He shoves his phone into Sean's hand, looks away from his amused gaze and runs towards the sea, shouting behind him not to miss the wave. As he reaches the water, he turns to check his friend is watching and sees him talking into the phone, hopefully not saying anything too embarrassing.

Before he left, she told him to have a good time, a little wistfully. He's been planning this trip for a while, but they never really discussed it and suddenly he was leaving and they still hadn't realised that would mean being separated longer than they were used to. When he landed, he wanted to text her immediately, send her photos of the places he visited, maybe even call her from the train as they headed for the coast after the first couple of days. He's waited over a week to even contact her, hoping the urge to know she's okay will fade. It hasn't.

He rides a vicious wave, the salty air whipping his hair into his face and stinging his eyes slightly, all the time hoping he doesn't fall – because he's by no means sure that Sean wouldn't send that version rather than any repeat. As he jogs back to his friend, board under his arm, he wonders what she's doing and when she'll check her phone.

"You met Sean?" he says, laughing as Sean's hand waves between him and the lens in greeting. "You'd love it here, Kens. Well, if it wasn't so cold," he corrects, knowing she'd never get used to the changeable temperature. "And it rained a bit when we first got here. But the last couple of days have been amazing." They have – gloriously sunny, the sea calling to him from the moment he looked out of the window of his room. "Waves are totally different here. I'm still king, though." He blows a kiss at the camera, knowing it will make her roll her eyes. "Back Friday, K – well, if I don't decide to stay." He winks before Sean ends the recording, hoping the short clip is enough to make her realise he's thinking about her.

Sean shakes his head. "You got it bad, man," he says, mildly, handing the phone back.

He sends the message, hoping she'll see it soon and wondering how to respond to Sean. "We're just used to seeing each other all the time."

He doesn't miss the other man's raised eyebrows, scepticism oozing from his expression.

"Whatever you say. You wait till I tell Anna. She'll grind you down."

"That woman could make me admit to starting a war. Doesn't count," he retorts flippantly, turning away to stow his things in an attempt to avoid further conversation.

His friend chuckles, clearly unconvinced, but he lets the subject drop as they walk back to their hotel. It's a walk he's enjoyed for the last few days, up a winding path towards the seaside town, but today he just wants to be back so he can check his messages without giving Sean the chance to comment. Then, as they approach the door, Sean suggests a quick beer in the bar – and with a reluctance he doesn't even want to begin analysing, he agrees.

By the time he's able to check, it's nearly an hour after he sent the message, thirty minutes after he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and knew instinctively she'd replied. He reads her message – _Very funny, idiot. You'll pay. You been on the beach all day?_ – and can picture the wry smile on her face as she composed it. He knows it's about half past nine in LA now and she'll have been at work at least an hour. He vaguely remembers that it's today that the new communications equipment arrives and grins at the thought of the others sitting through Eric's lectures and then Nell's testing; he knows it'll take all of Callen's patience to put up with Sam and Kensi whining about the new technology.

He wonders what she's doing now and hopes she's sitting at her desk rather than pursuing whatever or whoever is threatening them this week. He wants to ask whether she's okay but knows that will make her withdraw and then he'll never get the reassurance he wants.

_Most of it. Gotta make the most of the weather. How ya doing without me?_

The response comes quickly and he knows she's safely in the office – she would never be that quick if she was in the field. _All good. The guys say hello. Sean looks nice._

He frowns. What does that mean?

_Sean looks engaged_, he types hastily, _and his girl is scary_. Anna's not at all scary – just persistent – but that should stop her taking any thoughts of his friend looking 'nice' any further. Trying not to sound desperate, he adds, _You picking me up Friday?_

They'd talked about it before he departed and she'd left it at 'if I have time' – and even though he thinks she'll _make_ time, he'd like to be sure he's not the only one who doesn't want to have to wait longer than necessary to see each other.

It's an anxious minute before she replies.

_As long as nothing unexpected happens. Make sure you don't miss the flight._

He snorts. As if. It's four days till he's home and he tries not to think about what it means that he can almost say how many hours.

* * *

He holds out till Wednesday before sending another video, this time of him licking an ice cream cone suggestively. Sean can't stop laughing, unable to resist commenting that he doesn't think he should be a part of this. He just echoes the laughter and tells Sean he's making sure people don't forget him, before aiming a wink at the camera for the one person he hopes never even tries to forget him.

She texts him after she's seen it to say that she'll never let him near ice cream again. And he already knows he'll play on that when he gets back.

* * *

On the train back to London, he reads and tries not to think about seeing her so soon. He's grateful for his ability to lose himself in the pages because otherwise he thinks he'll work himself up to teenage angst levels and that really doesn't fit with the impression he'd like to give.

He tries to sleep on the plane but finds it unusually difficult; normally he's so used to grabbing sleep at any opportunity, not knowing when he might next be able to, but now he finds himself restless, unable to settle long enough to stop his mind working overtime. He wishes Sean was with him and even glances at the woman next to him, half-contemplating starting a conversation that's bound to make her think she's sitting with a lunatic.

He checks his watch too often and time crawls by. He promises himself he'll wait until they're close to landing before texting her – after all, she'll want to know he's on time. Eventually, he lets himself turn his phone on, trying not to be disappointed that she hasn't contacted him.

_Bored. Haven't been able to sleep. How was your day?_

Her response is almost instant. _Stop texting on the plane!_

He frowns. Not quite what he wanted. _Not until you answer the question_, he sends back, petulantly.

The face he knows she's pulling floats into his mind. _Routine. Nothing even worth mentioning. Now turn it off!_

He wonders if she knows why he asked the question: he's checking she's still coming. He's spent the day hoping nothing will happen to stop her.

_I'm sure someone proved it's not dangerous now. Think we're landing soon. You should probably leave, honey-pie._

The pet name will annoy her but it's all part of his plan to wear her down. One day, it will seem normal for him to use the endearments she claims to hate.

She doesn't answer the message but he knows she's coming. It'll take her at least an hour to reach the airport so she's probably already in the car, singing along to the radio and tapping her fingers on the wheel. Sometimes he thinks she doesn't even realise she's doing it.

His mood suddenly brightens, his limbs relaxing into the seat and the tension dissipating even though he's far too tall to be able to stretch his legs out properly. It's obvious that his improved mood is because he'll see her so soon and he doesn't even try to persuade himself otherwise. They might not be ready to talk about the situation they're in but he needs to learn not to shy away from the thought if he ever wants them to be ready. This _thing_ is fast becoming a thing he can't ignore; yet something tells him that he has to let her try to ignore it, at least for a while longer. They can't afford to leap headfirst into anything and he needs her to be sure of herself before she can ever be sure of him. She's too important to him to take any risks.

As the plane taxies towards the landing gate, he sends a quick text just to say he's landed but doesn't expect a response yet – she'll almost certainly not have reached the airport. He collects his bag and joins the queue to get through immigration, hoping his edgy anticipation won't be mistaken for suspicious nerves. The last thing he needs is to be hauled away for questioning.

His phone beeps whilst he's in the queue: _Don't keep me waiting too long_. A glance to the front of the inordinately long queue tells him she might have to wait a while for the multitude of Japanese tourists and businessmen to be processed.

He's tired and all he wants is a familiar face and a car he can fall asleep in. It seems like a long time since he left London and already his vacation is acquiring the sheen of a slightly surreal memory, a world away from the life he normally inhabits.

It's a long fifteen minutes later before he accepts his passport back from the official and heads towards the crowd in the arrivals hall, hoping he doesn't look too bad after being subject to a ten-hour flight in the company of strangers. His eyes flit quickly across the waiting throng in search of an impatient pose and a dark head but he can't see her anywhere. For a brief moment he worries she's not come, but the sensible part of his brain knows better and points out that it's quite hard to spot one dark-haired woman in what seems to be a sea of them.

_You hiding? Can't see you._

He thinks she might call but instead she texts back telling him which advertisements she's near and he scans the room, his eyes still unable to find her. As his gaze slides back the opposite way, she waves and catches his eye.

He can't stop the smile spreading across his face when he sees her, instantly quickening his pace. She's grinning manically and he wonders if she realises her expression has slipped beyond her control.

"Hey Kens!" he calls when he's in earshot, careful to keep his voice light. "Knew you couldn't stay away!"

She rolls her eyes and it's like he's not missed a day. "Shame you couldn't," she retorts merrily.

He drops his bag on the floor as he reaches her, laughing. "Nice greeting. Couldn't you have started with _Welcome back_?"

"Too easy. Gotta keep you on your toes."

For a moment, it's awkward, because he wants to hug her but feels too self-conscious. They don't really hug, although perhaps, he realises suddenly, that's because they're never really apart long enough these days. They don't avoid touch – it's just another aspect of this game they play – but he's always been careful to keep his touches innocent, at least on the surface. A hand on the back; the stroke of an arm; a finger lightly brushing stray hair out of an eye. He's never sure if she knows she reciprocates.

He breaks first because he doesn't think she will, pulling her into his embrace easily. It's only a few seconds but the jolt of sensation that shoots through him is unmistakeable; it makes him wish he could kiss her as though he's entitled to show everyone she belongs to him.

She pulls away – reluctantly, he thinks – and looks behind him. "Isn't Sean with you?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Flew straight from London to San Francisco to see his folks."

She nods. "You got everything?" she checks, reaching out to relieve him of the deceptively heavy bag that is his carry-on. "Oof. What have you _got_ in here, Deeks?"

He looks sheepish; he probably should have warned her. "Bought a few books in the airport. Might have gone a bit overboard. It's what happens when I'm not supervised."

"Clearly. Come on – I'm parked pretty close."

As she turns from him, he reaches to pick up his massive backpack, preparing to follow her. Later, he'll wonder what comes over him as he asks the question that will signify a change in their relationship.

"Hey, Kens – you miss me?"

She stops and he can see her shoulders tense as she considers her response. His question was posed lightly and he can't be sure she's caught the undertone to his words. This time, a flippant answer isn't enough. He wants the reassurance of a proper answer.

It feels like minutes before she turns but it's no more than a few seconds before she meets his eyes, her own mismatched pair now so familiar to him that two weeks away could never make him forget the shades.

"Yes," she says, and it sounds like an admission that neither of them is ready to face right now, even if now is the time to make it. If this _thing_ is ever to have a chance, they can't just keep forcing it into a box.

He says nothing because he doesn't need to. They'll talk about it one day – and at least now they know they'll both recognise that day when it arrives.

* * *

**I thought I'd find Deeks' voice easier to find than Kensi's but I didn't - somehow the way he uses humour to cover everything escapes me slightly. I'm working on my next piece (and possibly even contemplating an M story, dum-dum-dum...) but those of you who are familiar with me know I'm not the fastest poster in the world...!**


End file.
